


circling these vultures

by nasa



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Nobody Dies, i'm not that masochistic, set vaguely in early 616 canon but i mean vague, this sounds really depressing and tbh a lot of it is but i promise the end is very fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-22 22:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13176954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasa/pseuds/nasa
Summary: Steve and Tony have been dating for six months when Tony gets diagnosed with cancer.





	circling these vultures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Never Too Late for Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12954453) by [Sineala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala). 



Steve and Tony have been dating for six months when Tony gets diagnosed with cancer.

Steve isn’t with him when it happens, because Tony says it isn’t necessary - “I get one of these screenings every year,” he promises Steve over breakfast, “Nothing ever happens, it’s just a precaution.”

That afternoon, he walks into the common room with shoulders slumped and eyes down, his whole face scarily blank.

“Steve,” he says, “Steve, can I talk to you?”

They go to the kitchen. Steve wraps his arms around Tony’s waist and Tony buries his face in Steve’s shoulder and he cries without saying anything. The ice around Steve’s heart grows tighter and tighter and he wonders what it is, which one Tony has gotten - leukemia? Bone cancer? Prostate?

“I have a tumor,” Tony manages finally, around his tears. “In my brain. It’s terminal. They gave me two years to live.”

 _No,_ Steve thinks, _no, no, no, not Tony, please, anyone but Tony,_ but if there’s anyone out there, they aren’t listening.

Tony cries into Steve’s shoulder in the quiet of the kitchen, and Steve holds him, stunned, barely able to keep them both upright.

-

They call a team meeting the next day to tell the Avengers. Steve holds Tony’s hand as Tony relays his prognosis. “I’ll be starting chemotherapy next week,” he finishes. “I’m going to fight it for as long as I can.”

Jan is crying. Hank looks stunned. Carol’s got that pinched look on her face that Steve’s only ever seen once or twice before, when she’s talking about lost soldiers.

 _He’s not lost yet,_ Steve thinks, and has to close his eyes against the hot wave of anger that sweeps him.

“Hank,” Steve says. “I’d appreciate it if you could take a look at the file.”

Tony frowns at him out of the corner of his eye, but doesn’t object. That morning, Tony had laid in Steve’s arms, and Steve had said they should get a second opinion, get their friends to look at his case. _I trust my doctors, Steve,_ Tony had said, _they’re the best in the country,_ and Steve had said _please,_ and pressed a kiss to the back of Tony’s neck, breathed deep. _Please._

“Of course,” Hank says, “If there’s anything - of course.”

He takes the file Steve hands him and heads down to his lab. He doesn’t come out for two days, and when he does, he tells Steve that he hasn’t found anything yet. _But I’m still talking to people,_ Hank says. _I’m still looking for options._

It doesn’t sound very hopeful.

-

Tony’s first round of chemo is brutal. For the first day, he seems almost okay; but then he wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, and barely manages to stick his head over the side of the bed before he’s vomiting up his dinner.

The symptoms last three days. Each day it gets better, but it’s still horrible, still like the worst sickness Steve has ever seen. He stays with Tony, bringing him food and water and helping him shower each night, and it reminds him of when he used to be sick as a kid.

“It’s fine,” Tony tells Steve, the third night as Steve gently guides him out of the shower. He’s pale, but his fever does seem to be lifting. “This is what I need to do to live longer, right? So I’m going to do it.”

Steve’s brow is pinched but he says nothing. Weeks later, they go to the oncology checkup. Steve sits with Tony in the waiting room, holding his hand, but Tony has to go into the scans alone. When he comes back out, he’s frowning, something like disappointment on his face.

“It’s grown,” he says, and Steve’s heart sinks. “Not as much as it could’ve. But - yeah.” He sighs, rubs his hand over his face. “But we knew this was going to happen,” he says, almost as though he’s reminding himself instead of Steve. “It’s not a surprise.”

Tony’s quiet all night though, even when they curl up on the couch after dinner with the rest of the Avengers and a movie playing on the TV. Steve wraps his arm around Tony’s shoulder, lets him curl into his chest, and tries not to think about how this can get worse.

-

Tony’s hair falls out after the second round of chemo.

“It’s fine,” he tells Steve, when he wakes up with a clump of hair on his pillow. “It’s been better than the last time, all considered.”

That’s true. This round, Tony is still sick, but it doesn’t keep him awake all night vomiting up bile, and his fever is a few degrees lower in temperature.

Still, Steve watches the way Tony looks at himself in the mirror before he pulls out an electric razor to shave his head. He does his goatee, too, and when he’s done, he looks like a different person.

He smiles at Steve in the mirror. “Like what you see?” he asks, and it’s probably supposed to be a joke, but it comes out frighteningly sincere.

“Always,” Steve says, coming up behind Tony to wrap his hands around his waist. He presses a kiss to the top of Tony’s head, and thinks about how somewhere in there is the tumor that is killing him, twisted among the brains that make Tony who he is. “You’re gorgeous, you know that.”

Tony’s grin is crooked. “I look a little weird without the goatee, though,” he says, and Steve smiles at him in the mirror.

“It’s new,” he says, “but that doesn’t make it bad.”

When the fuck that night, Tony feels like he’s coming undone under Steve's hands. He's shaking and begging, more desperate than Steve’s ever seen him. “Please,” he says, “please, please, Steve,” clinging to Steve like he’ll fall if he lets go.

The only thing Steve can think, as Tony’s fingers dig into his shoulder, is that his bruises will have healed within the hour. But Tony will still be sick.

-

Iron Man keeps coming on missions because of course he does. It would be suspicious, if Iron Man fell off the face of the earth at the same time his employer did.

But he comes on fewer of them. Steve is better about this, now, about making sure Tony sleeps and eats and takes care of himself. He doesn’t let Tony go out after a round of chemo, and he tries to avoid going out himself, too, only leaving once or twice when the city really seems like it’s at risk.

One day, in between rounds of treatment, Kang the Conqueror comes for the Avengers. Tony and Steve suit up, and together with the rest of the team, they fight him like they always did. At the end of it, there’s a block of New York City in ruins and everyone is exhausted, but Iron Man turns to Steve, and Steve can almost imagine that nothing has changed, that everything’s exactly the same as it was a few months ago, before Tony got diagnosed.

“Good work, Shellhead,” Steve says, and Iron Man tips him a two-fingered salute.

“Just earning my paycheck,” he jokes. “Need a ride back to the Mansion?”

They spend that night in the workshop instead of their room. Tony works on repairing the Iron Man armor, and Steve spends all night sketching him, this man he never knew he needed until he had him in his arms. Tony's lost weight, and looks pale, and has the strange bald haircut that doesn’t really fit him, but he’s still Tony, still moves and acts in such a distinct way that it makes Steve’s chest ache.

He does as many sketches as he can, until his hands start cramping up, because he wants to remember this, really remember it, in a way that photographs and cameras can’t always do. He wants something on paper of how he saw Tony. Something on paper of what he has, before it’s gone.

-

“I hate this,” Tony sobs, one night during the fourth round of chemo. “Why did this happen to me? It’s not fair, Steve, it’s not -“

And then he’s retching, again, and all Steve can do is rub his back and say, “I know, sweetheart, I know, there you go,” and pray to a god he’s not sure exists anymore: _Please. If_ _you can hear me, please. Help him._

_-_

“You know you don’t have to say,” Tony says one night over dinner. They’re over six months into the treatment; Tony’s next round of chemo starts tomorrow. Steve’s lost count of how many rounds there have been.

“Don’t be absurd,” Steve says, reaching over to place his hand over Tony’s. “I’m staying.”

Tony’s lips twist down, as if that wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear.

-

(That was a lie: that Steve lost count. He remembers exactly how many rounds of chemo there are, exactly how many days and hours and minutes the symptoms from each one of them lasted, exactly how much time Tony spends in pain, how much of his limited life span he suffers just because he’s hoping he can stick around a few weeks longer. Part of Steve thinks, _it’s not worth it._ Part of Steve thinks, _of course it’s worth it._ He’s not sure which part is the selfish one.)

-

“You know I love you, right?” Steve asks Tony one night as they’re cleaning up the dishes from the team dinner.

Tony pauses in the middle of drying a plate. “I know,” he says, setting it aside. “Why do you ask?”

“So many people I love have died,” Steve says, he looks away from Tony, looks down at the sudsy glass in his hands. “And at the end I always seem to have regrets. There are - things I should have done, should have said, should have experienced. But I was always too afraid, and so instead I have regrets.” He sighs. “I don’t want to have regrets with you.”

When he glances over at Tony, Tony’s eyes are dark and considering. “Do you have regrets with me?” he asks.

“I regret not asking you out sooner,” Steve says, and Tony smiles, just the slightest quirk of his lips. “I regret not making you happier,” and the smile falls away. “I want to make you happier, Tony. I try but I keep messing it up and I don’t - I want you to tell me, when I do something that bothers you. When you need something else from me.”

Tony’s brow is pinched. “It’s not like that, Steve,” he says. “You - God, you make everything more bearable, you are - sometimes, the only thing that motivates me to keep going. I don’t want to die, but I am, I’m sick and I’m dying and it’s - hard, sometimes, to get up when you know that. Because you think, why bother? What can I really do in the next year that will make any difference? Maybe I deserve this. Maybe it’d just be easier if the end came quick.” Tony sighs, looks down at his hands. “But then I think, what would Steve want me to do? What would make Steve happy? I think, I want to spend time with Steve. That would make me happy. That would be worth it, even if I got nothing else. If I just spend the next year being happy with you, I’d be -“

“Then let’s be happy together,” Steve says, setting down the cup and reaching over to cup Tony’s cheek. Steve’s hands are wet but Tony doesn’t seem to care. “Let’s just - forget about the future, okay? Let’s do the things that make you happy.”

“Being Iron Man makes me happy,” Tony says. “Leading the Avengers with you. Working on things in my workshop, and having a conversation with you in the background. Introducing you to pop culture. Doing stupid things we’d never have a chance to do, if I weren’t rich. Making you happy.”

“Okay,” Steve says. “Okay, we can do that. We can do all of those things.”

“Yeah?” Tony asks, smiling. It’s soft, and very, very real.

“Yeah,” Steve promises, leaning forward to kiss him. “We may not have all the time in the world, but we have enough.

-

They miss their one year anniversary because of a supervillian attack, but they make up for it, scheduling something for their one and a half year anniversary instead. Tony has been sick for almost a year. Steve doesn’t think about it.

Steve knows Tony wants to do something spontaneous, so he books them a weekend trip to Paris. He surprises Tony with it the morning of their anniversary. Tony is delighted. They eat pastries and climb the Eiffel Tower and go to the Louvre, though Steve restrains himself to just a single day, a single museum, knowing Tony hates art even if he’s willing to suffer through it with Steve.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to come to Paris with you,” Steve tells Tony their last night, over tiny plates at some expensive restaurant Steve knows they’d never be able to get into if they weren’t superheroes.

“Yeah?” Tony smiles. “You know where I’ve always wanted to go with you? Japan.”

So they extend their vacation and take the jet to Japan, where they stuff themselves with expensive sushi and cheap ramen and Tony tries to barter at street stalls in perfect Japanese. They spend their nights in the most expensive hotel Steve’s ever stayed in, a suite with seven rooms and lush sheets and a Jacuzzi surrounded by eucalyptus soaps.

“Have you ever wanted to get married?” Steve asks, one night, as Tony leans back into him in the tub.

“I’ve never had anyone I wanted to marry before,” Tony says. “Not until you.”

They stop in Vegas on the way back to New York. Maybe it’s stupid, and rushed, and not the wedding either of them ever imagined they’d have, but walking out of that stupid little chapel, with Tony’s ring on his finger, Steve can’t imagine anything better.

“I love you,” he tells Tony, and Tony laughs and kisses him and says, “I know,” and in that moment, at least, their lives don’t feel any more finite than anyone else’s.

-

Three weeks after they get back, the Red Skull decides to attack New York. He’s got an army of HYDRA soldiers and no remorse.

“You took my life from me!” he screams as Steve tries and fails to push him back. He’s lost his shield in the fight, and now he’s unarmed, injured, barely upright. The Avengers are all here, the Fantastic Four on their way, but they’re becoming overwhelmed. “Now I will take yours from you!”

He throws something - Steve’s not sure what it is but it looks almost like a javelin - right at Steve’s stomach. Steve tries to move out of the way, but he’s been hit so many times today already, and he's too tired, too slow -

Suddenly, Iron Man is in front of him, and the javelin is gone. “Iron Man,” Steve breathes, and then he realizes that the javelin isn’t gone, but sticking out from Tony’s chest. “Tony!”

Iron Man crumples in front of him, down to his knees, and then his side.

“Tony, sweetheart, stay with me, please,” Steve begs, even as he watches the blood leak out of the gaps around the javelin. It’s sticking straight through his chest - the wrong side for his heart, but the wrong side for anything.

Without thinking, Steve rips off his face plate.

“It’s okay,” Tony manages. His lips are blue. “I’m gonna - die anyway. You should -“

“You’re not going to die,” Steve says. “I love you, you’re not going to die.”

Dimly, Steve realizes that the Fantastic Four have arrived, and are taking on the Red Skull. The tide of the battle seems to be shifting; Johnny’s lighting up soldiers left and right, and Reed’s got the Skull in a strangling bear hug. But all Steve can think about is Tony.

“I’ve got you,” Steve promises, and lifts the armor in his arms. It’s heavy, but Steve doesn’t care; there’s adrenaline rushing through his veins, and all he can think is, _you aren’t going to die, not here, not like this, not yet._

He manages to make it to the SHIELD building before he collapses on the floor, Tony still cradled in his arms. “Please,” he tells the stunned agents. “Help him.”

After that, it’s a blur. They make it to medical, at some point, and they manage to get Tony out of his armor; Steve thinks he showed them the catches. Then Tony is just laying there with the javelin sticking out of his chest, and Steve says, “He’s going to die,” and nobody corrects him, and he wants to scream.  _Too far gone,_ one doctor murmurs,  _you can't heal from a wound like that._

“He needs blood,” Steve hears himself say. “Give him my blood.”

“Sir,” one of the orderlies says, “We don’t even know -“

“I’m O+, he’s B+,” Steve says. “I have a healing factor. Give him my blood.”

Steve isn’t sure but he thinks Hank shows up sometime then. His memory is vague, almost as though he’s drifting in and out of consciousness, even though he knows he stays upright. All he can think is that Tony can’t die, not yet; he has a year left, six months at least.

They take Steve’s blood and wheel Tony away to surgery. They hook Steve up to an IV and tell him to rest, in case they need more of his blood later. They come back twice, and each time, Steve asks how the surgery is going, and each time, they refuse to answer.

Carol shows up at his bedside sometime after that. “Everything is fine,” she tells him. “The Red Skull is gone. You should rest. You took a lot of hits.”

“Tony,” he starts, but she shakes her head.

“You want to help Tony, you rest,” she says. “They’ll only take more blood from you if they’re sure your body can take it, and the best way to be sure your body can take it is if you rest.”

Steve nods, his eyelids already growing heavy. “Wake me, if there’s -“

“If there’s news,” she finishes softly. “Okay. Go on, Steve. You could use the sleep.”

When he drifts off, it’s to thoughts of Tony in the operating room, with the vague prayer that he’ll be all right.

-

He wakes up to someone shaking him.

“Steve,” they say, and he realizes it’s Jan. “Steve, wake up.”

For a moment, he doesn’t want to. He’s tired, and his body aches all over. Then he remembers what happened, and he’s bolting up, throwing the covers back.

“Tony,” he says, “is Tony -“

“He made it out of surgery,” Jan says. “The transfusion worked. He’s asking for you.”

Steve all but rips the IV out of his hand in his haste to get out of bed. “Take me to him,” he orders, and she turns and starts briskly walking. “How long have I been asleep?”

Jan winces. “A day and a half,” she says. “You got beat up pretty bad, Cap, and then they took about half your blood volume. You needed the rest.”

“Is he - is Tony -“

“They think he’s going to be okay,” Jan tells him with a smile. “Here, it’s right down this hall -“

Tony is sitting propped up on the pillows, Rhodey sitting next to him. He’s trying to get Tony to drink from a juice box, but Tony is wrinkling his nose. He looks pale, but he’s upright, and he’s moving. There’s white bandages wrapped around his chest.

Steve thinks he must make some noise, because Tony looks up at him and his gaze softens. “Hey, Winghead,” he murmurs, and without thinking Steve is crossing the room, bending down to wrap his arms around Tony, hold cautious.

“Hey, Shellhead,” Steve says, shakily, and presses a kiss to Tony’s neck, below his ear. “How are you feeling?”

When he leans back, Tony is smiling at him. “As well as can be expected,” he says. “I heard I’m a super soldier now, so that’s exciting.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “I’m not sure I would go that far,” he says, and Tony waves a hand.

“What do you know, it’s not like you’re an expert on super soldiers.” Steve perches on the side of Tony bed, reaching over to take Tony’s hand in his.

“Hey, Colonel,” he says, and Rhodey nods at him, holding out the juice box.

“Good to see you up, Cap,” he says. “You mind making him drink this? He won’t listen to me.”

Tony pouts. “Come on, honeybear. I don’t just do everything Steve asks me.”

“You really should drink it,” Steve says. He holds it out towards Tony hopefully. “Your system has taken a huge shock, it’ll be good to get some sugar into it. Please? For me.”

Tony takes one look at his face and sighs, holding out his hand. “Those puppy dog eyes are dangerous,” he grumbles, taking a long pull off the straw. Steve smiles and rubs a hand across Tony’s thigh.

“It’s good for you,” Steve promises, and Tony rolls his eyes.

“Well, I’ve got to get going,” Rhodey says from behind Steve, and Steve almost startles; he’d forgotten he was still in the room. “Debrief with the U.S. government and all that. You take care of yourself, alright Tony? I’ll be back soon.”

“You got it, bubble gum,” Tony says.

“And you,” Rhodey says, turning to Steve. “You take care of him. I’m sure that was in your vows somewhere, and I’m holding you to them, even if I wasn’t invited to the wedding.”

Steve blushes faintly but nods. “Of course,” he says, and Rhodey nods one more time, waves at Tony, and then he’s gone.

When Steve turns back to Tony, Tony’s watching him strangely. “You don’t have to take care of me, you know,” he says. “I can take care of myself.”

“I want to take care of you,” Steve counters. “Besides, it really seems like you can’t. Diving in front of a giant weapon was a pretty dumb move.”

Tony shrugs, looking down at the empty juice box in his hands. He twists the straw, almost nervously. “I’m dying soon. You’re not. It’s not a hard equation to balance.”

“I could die at any moment,” Steve says, too honest. “I could die in the next fight. _You_ could have died in this fight. Please. Don’t sacrifice yourself to save me. I wouldn’t - we have a year left, okay? Please don’t - don’t go before you have to.”

“Okay,” Tony says softly, and Steve lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He lifts Tony’s hand, presses a kiss into his palm.

“Okay,” Steve repeats. “Now, I’m sure you’re dying of boredom - want me to try to rustle up a tablet for you?”

Tony groan with relief, sinking back into the pillows. “This is why I love you,” he says, and Steve laughs and gets up to go hunt down Jan, secure in the knowledge Tony will be waiting here when he gets back.

-

Steve and Tony are on their way to Tony’s next oncology appointment when the call comes through.

“It’s Doom - he’s attacking Central Park again,” Carol says, and Steve sighs, turning to Tony.

Tony manages a grimace that’s maybe supposed to be a smile. “It’s fine,” he says. “Go on.”

“I don’t want to leave you to go alone,” Steve says.

Tony leans forward and kisses him, a chaste brush of lips. “It’s fine,” he repeats, and it sounds almost sincere. “Go save the city. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Steve sighs, brushing his thumb over Tony’s cheek. He looks good, really, all things considered. Based on the doctor’s last estimation, he has less than a year left if he’s lucky, but his skin is pink and healthy, and his hair has started to grow back since the last treatment. He’s even been far less tired, despite the fact, if anything, he’s getting less sleep.

“I love you,” Steve says, then opens the car door and steps out into the road. He taps his comm. “Falcon? Any chance I could get an extraction?”

The fight is short and boring. By the time Steve shows up, Carol’s done most of the work, and he spends the rest of the fight - mainly clean-up - thinking about Tony, in the oncologist's office, waiting for bad news.

They’re almost done cleaning up the wreckage of the Doombots when Carol takes pity on him. “Go on, Steve,” she says, even though, as team leader, he should really be calling the shots. “I can take it from here.”

There was a time where Steve would have protested, and insisting on sticking around as long as his men were still on the ground. Now, he just smiles gratefully, tossing the last piece of Doombot he’s carrying into the pile.

“I owe you one, Captain Marvel,” he says, and then he’s jogging off to the other end of the park, where the cabs wait.

He tries calling Tony on his communicator, but he doesn’t pick up. He wonders, vaguely, if Tony might still be at the doctor’s office, but it’s been hours - he must’ve been home by now. Maybe he’s ignoring his calls. Steve’s heart sinks. How bad would the news have to be for Tony to ignore him entirely?

By the time he gets back to the Mansion, he’s so anxious that he just tosses the cabbie a fifty instead of bothering to count out bills. His hands are shaking, he realizes as he takes the front steps two at a time. He hasn’t felt this nervous since the first time he asked Tony out.

The entrance hall is dark when Steve steps inside. “Tony?” he calls, heading for the living room. Tony isn’t there, but there is Jarvis. The old man is sitting on the sofa, speaking softly on the phone with someone, tears in his eyes.

“- not sure,” Jarvis finishes, as he glances over at Steve.

“Tony?” Steve asks breathlessly, and Jarvis points towards kitchen, blinking rapidly.

 _Oh, god, it must be bad,_ Steve thinks, his heart sinking even further. _Oh god, oh god, oh please._

Tony is alone in the kitchen. He’s standing in front of the fridge, staring at himself in its reflection. When Steve enters, he turns, and Steve sees that his eyes are red, too, like he’s been crying.

“Tony,” Steve starts, but Tony shakes his head before he can say anything else, stepping forward and - is he smiling?

“Steve,” Tony says, and yeah, he’s definitely grinning, he’s practically glowing with the force of his happiness, “Steve, I’m in remission.”

Steve’s heart stops for one shuddering moment before picking up again, double pace.

“What?” he hears himself say. “But, Tony, that -“

“Complete spontaneous remission,” Tony confirms, beaming. “They said it’s unprecedented, they have no idea what caused it. But it’s like I never had cancer at all.”

Steve’s breathing rapid and shallow and all he an think is _wait, what?_ “So you’re - you’re going to be fine?” His voice cracks on the last word.

Tony nods. “I’m going to be fine, Steve,” he says, “I’m going to be absolutely fine -“

He’s cut off by Steve hugging him, the force of it almost bowling him over. “Oh, thank god,” Steve murmurs into Tony’s shoulder. “Oh, thank you, God,” and then he’s crying without realizing it, but he hasn’t felt this relieved in - ever, maybe. _Tony is going to be okay._ Tony is going to live. Tony and Steve don’t have months, they have _years,_ they have _decades,_ if they’re lucky, they -

“I love you,” Steve manages around his tears, “I love you so much, Tony,” and Tony laughs, watery, into his shoulder.

“I love you,” Tony says, stroking his hand through Steve’s hair. “Jesus, I can’t believe it. You saved my life.”

It takes Steve a minute to realize what he’s saying. When he does, he pulls back, just enough to see Tony’s face. “I - what?”

Tony grins at him. “Well what else do you think it was? This type of remission - it doesn’t _happen,_ Steve, it just doesn’t. Just like healing from a gaping chest wound just doesn’t happen. But you gave me your blood, and it healed me from that, and it healed me from this, too.”

“I am so glad you got a gaping chest wound,” Steve says, dumfounded, and Tony laughs, head falling back to expose the line of his throat. Impulsively, Steve leans down to press a kiss to Tony’s pulse point.

“How did the fight go?” he asks, “You take Doom down?”

“Easily,” Steve says, “though it would have been nice to have you there.”

Tony smirks at him, twisting his fingers in Steve’s hair. “Well, next time, then,” he says. “Since I’m not dying anymore,” and Steve can’t help it: he kisses him, hot and wet and a little desperate.

“It's going to be okay,” Tony says, when Steve pulls back. Steve rests his forehead against Tony’s, closes his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re going to be okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by sineala's Ultimates Big Bang, Never Too Late for Love, which includes a subplot dealing with Tony's cancer. Lucky for me, sineala was kind enough to encourage me to post it anyway.
> 
> If this is OOC, I'm sorry; I'm pretty new to the comics, and I don't know that I've necessarily gotten a really strong feel on the characters yet. This may be more of Marvel Adventures characterization, or even a fanon one. In either case, I apologize if this wasn't quite what you were expecting.
> 
> Title taken from "Sit Next to Me" by Foster the People.


End file.
